The Director
by JustSaraNoH
Summary: A series of missing scenes for the second season of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Phil has to deal with rebuilding his beloved agency and leaving behind the love of his life. (Sequel to The Cellist)
1. Chapter 1

**NOTES: **Anna Ellis was created before Audrey Nathan was made public knowledge; therefore, this series is a wee bit AU.

Thanks to **the_wordbutler** for the beta and for wanting to hear more from this story.

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><p>Phil sighs happily as he beholds the sight before him: an empty trio of plane seats. With all his global trekking, he'd learned to be one of the last passengers on the plane. He always has Koenig book him aisle seats near an exit door; a parachute lines his suit jacket in case something goes to hell. Boarding just before the gate closes lets Phil take a good look at everyone else on the plane on the off chance (or what feels like an incredibly likely chance lately) that there is an unfriendly face on the passenger manifest.<p>

The flights and constant recruitment are exhausting. Phil used to be good at bringing in potential agents with lures of making good on their name and fighting the good fight, but that stump speech is no longer an option. Part of him even fears speaking the word S.H.I.E.L.D. in public; who knows who could be listening and make him a target.

But flying coach is worse than all of the crap he's endured lately. He spends the duration of most flights cursing Grant Ward's name. It's because of that traitor that his team was put in danger, Fitz's mind was compromised, and why Phil no longer has a plane of his own. He really misses his plane (also Fitz being healthy and team being solid).

There are other things he misses, too. One person in particular, but Anna is safer and happier without him around and as much as he hates it and misses her, things can't change. Not anytime soon, at least.

He pushes those thoughts out of his mind as he decides how to best settle himself on the row of three empty seats. But of course, his dream can't last long—a muttered apology behind him causes Phil to turn around. A harried man ten years his senior shuffles up the aisle, a hard plastic case in his arms. He smiles apologetically at Phil's fallen face. "Connecting flight ran late," the man explains. "Made it just in the nick of time."

"Congratulations," Phil replies with a fake smile. He sweeps his arm towards the seats as he steps out of the way. "Go ahead."

"Thanks," the man replies. He takes the window seat and then carefully straps the plastic case into the middle seat. Phil pretends to check his e-mail on his phone, but really pulls up a threat detector app Skye built. Whatever is inside doesn't appear to be threatening. "My bassoon," the stranger says, apparently able to read Phil's thoughts.

"I'm sorry?" Phil asks as he straps himself into his seat.

"I'm a professional musician. Sticking Bessie here in the cargo compartment is hell on a woodwind. Just slightly more of a hell than having to buy two plane tickets everywhere."

"Bessie the Bassoon?"

The man shrugs. "My daughter named her. She was seven at the time."

Phil smiles and returns his attention to his phone for one last check of incoming messages before he has to shut it down for the flight back to New York from London. His goal is to try and sleep a little on the plane, but the musician next to him apparently feels chatty.

"You have any kids?"

"Three," Phil answers, the lie slipping from his mouth before his brain really processes it. God, he needs to sleep.

The stranger smiles wistfully. "My wife and I wanted more, but it just didn't work out." He pauses to stretch out his hand. "Doug, by the way."

"Peter," Phil replies. He doesn't think the man is threat to anything but his sleep cycle, but better safe than sorry.

"You married?" Doug asks.

Phil shakes his head. "Recently divorced."

"Sorry."

"It happens," Phil says with a shrug. "She's a musician, too, and I work all the time at a job that demands a lot of travel and attention."

Doug nods sympathetically. "A lot of my friends stayed together until their kids were grown."

"Yeah," Phil breathes. He wants to end the discussion, but his exhaustion is apparently giving his tongue a mind of its own. "My older daughter doesn't speak to me anymore. Our son is just confused about everything. The younger daughter has been living with me while she gets settled into her first big job, but it's different. I'm pushing her away. Not that I want to, it's just—"

"Self-punishment," Doug finishes for him. "My wife and I split five years ago for pretty similar reasons. It was hard being around my daughter for the first year after that. Felt like I'd let her down. And then you look at her face, and all these memories come back to you—birthdays, Christmas, whatever—and even though you know ending things was the right thing to do, it just makes everything hurt again."

Phil never spent a Christmas with Anna. She hates celebrating her birthday, but made sure to help Pepper make a big deal of his a couple months ago.

Had it really only been seven weeks? Because it feels like ages. The days have been long and challenging, as to be expected when trying to rebuild an organization that is barely holding on, but the constant ache in his chest doesn't make things any easier, either. He's come to close to calling her while lying in the dark of a hotel room, his thumb hovering over the glowing send icon. But what would he say? He has to devote his life to S.H.I.E.L.D. right now, and probably for the rest of his days. She deserves better than that, so as much as it guts him to do so, he has to leave her be. He's already barged his way back into her life once. She'd thought then that he was dead, and from now on he just needs to be completely gone to her. Let her live her life without the fear of Grant Ward attacking her, the worry that she might have to bury Phil again, or the heartache of hearing that one of their "kids," as she called them, was injured on a mission.

His life, like flying coach, blows. But this is the only option he has now.


	2. Chapter 2

"Overdue," Phil mutters. "And I'm tired of fighting it."

"So don't," May responds.

He sighs, weighing his options. He feels the need to give in to whatever this alien thing consuming his mind is. He remembers Anna being restless in bed, swearing under her breath, and getting up to get some melody out of her system at three in the morning before she could finally give in to sleep. It was either adorable or annoying depending on how sleep deprived Phil was.

But he thinks this is different. Anna could at least understand the outcome; she knew how the notes related to each other. Phil is constantly fighting the feeling of his blood about to boil over, all so he can carve symbols that make absolutely no sense into a wall.

Phil listens as May closes blinds and seals off his office. She's the only person in the world he feels comfortable doing this in front of. She doesn't see this as an exercise in Phil being the definition of vulnerable; instead, she's told him repeatedly it's her way of helping him out.

Her words from earlier in the week, about how he shouldn't have to carry everything on his shoulders, ring in his ears as he loosens his tie. Phil wants to believe that so badly, but every second of his life has been a battle for control, and he's barely hanging on anymore. He feels like he's flailing and letting everyone down. Add on top of that the lines and circles flitting around his brain and taunting him around the clock...

He leans over to remove his shoes and socks. It's a cycle that's been going on for a while now. Fifteen days seems to be about the tipping the point. He can fight it for a few days longer, like this time around, if he has to, but he's never made it further than twenty.

Phil pulls the knife from his drawer, unfurls the tarp on the ground to help ease the clean up and stares at the blank wall in front of him. May switches out the surface after every episode. He doesn't know how or when she fixes it, or what she does with the old carvings. Maybe she hides them away for research, gives them to Skye saying she found another carving from Garrett. Phil doesn't ask, doesn't care too much. He just sighs gratefully at the sight of the blank canvas.

Giving up control is something he's never been good at, not since he watched his father bleed out in front of him when he was a child. It'd caused a lot of issues in his younger years, but then Nick had found him and taught him how to turn his compulsions into something beneficial. All those lessons seem to have dissolved over the last few months because control is the last thing Phil feels right now.

He takes a breath and steps up to the wall. As soon as the blade comes in contact with the surface, the shapes and lines flow out of him. Most of the time, Phil doesn't know how long it takes for him to finish marking up the wall. He's left to drown in a tidal wave he can't understand until whatever it is decides that's enough for now and leaves him be. He's vaguely aware of the shutter of May's camera and her voice dictating notes as he goes along. Most of the time, it just becomes part of the white noise that surrounds him.

When he's finally finished, the alien part of his brain giving him release, he steps back with a sigh. There's always a few beats between his last knife stroke and May asking if he's done. He nods and swallows, panting as he tries to feel like he's in control of his own mind once more.

May presses a glass of water into his hand, and he drinks greedily from it. "How long?" he rasps.

"Just under five hours."

"You should sleep," he tells her.

"You should take your own advice," she snipes back as she begins to fold up the tarp.

Phil shakes his head and kneels down beside her. "You don't have to do that."

"It's fine."

"No, I—"

"Phil," she snaps. "Let me help you."

He slumps back onto his heels and nods once. It's humiliating, every single bit of it. He'd rather be ninety, senile, and living in some nursing home than be in this situation. She shouldn't have to witness him go through this, shouldn't have to set up a new wall from him to desecrate with something no one understands, and she certainly shouldn't have to clean up his mess.

"How is everyone?" he asks when he feels like he can talk again.

She shrugs. "Mack is helping Fitz out, which is good. Skye's worried about you. They all are." He opens his mouth to protest, but she raises an eyebrow at him. It's enough to keep his objections quiet. "What's next?" May asks.

"Scare Talbot. Keep him off our backs for just a bit."

"And how do you plan on doing that?"

He looks up at her and gives her a tiny grin. "Still remember how to fly the Bus?"


	3. Chapter 3

**NOTES: **Thanks to **the_wordbutler** for not only cleaning up my words but also for proclaiming each new chapter of this series her favorite.

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><p>"And what about you, sir?" Jemma asks while scrubbing plates. "How have you been at making new friends? Or perhaps mending fences with old ones?"<p>

Phil gives her an unimpressed look and shakes his head. "You're as subtle as Doctor Banner in a bad mood."

Jemma pulls an expression of mock hurt while placing a plate in the drying rack. She'd insisted on doing dishes since he cooked. "I was just wondering if, you know—"

"I haven't talked to Anna," Phil interrupts to cut to the chase.

"Oh, that I did know. I was just wondering if you had any intention of ever doing it."

Phil feels his eyebrows draw together. "What do you mean you already know that?"

Jemma shrugs. "I don't really know anyone else in the city, and we ran into each other a few weeks ago in Central Park. We've had lunch a couple of times."

"Did you tell her your cover story?" Phil questions, ignoring how his stomach tightens a little at the thought of bringing Anna back into this life of secrets and lies.

"A modified version, yes. I told her I'd transferred to a lab, nothing more."

Phil nods, satisfied with that story. "Is she, you know…"

"Is she what, sir?" Jemma returns with a hint of a smirk.

"Alright?"

"For the most part, I think," she answers as she puts the last of the dishes in the drying rack. She towels down the counter as she continues. "She's had trouble finding a job with an orchestra—doubt about her hand being completely healed and her being fired from her last position isn't helping her."

Phil hangs his head in guilt over that, even if he wasn't the one who broke her fingers one by one. "Is she still working for Stark?"

Jemma looks at him with surprise. "You honestly haven't been keeping up with her?"

"No. She said she needed space from all of this, so I've been trying to give it to her."

Jemma nods, and when she answers, she's using her quiet and comforting tone. "She still works for Stark Industries when they need her, but no longer lives in the Tower. She said she felt like she was 'bumming off your friends.'"

"Where is she now?"

"Bed-Stuy. Said it was still a connection involving you, but at least there she could afford the rent on her salary from consulting for Miss Potts and teaching at the conservatory." She chuckles for a second. "Says that Felix is too much of a snob to find the living situation decent, but deals with it since there are children to give him attention."

Phil hadn't thought about the possibility of Clint taking Anna in, but he's alright with it. He's heard reports of some Eastern European gangsters trying to cause trouble in that area of Brooklyn, but it sounded like Clint and his brother have things under control.

And it's safer than being with him.

"We're having lunch on Saturday," Jemma says. "Should I tell her you say hello?"

There are so many things Phil wants to tell Anna, but he's afraid to pass on a simple greeting. "No, but thank you."

He ignores how Jemma's face falls at that and does his best to ignore the thought of Anna completely until he's on the Bus and flying home from Morocco. He has Skye send the video recording from Ward's detention cell to his office and watches Fitz confront the traitor.

Phil's heart breaks for a number of reasons. The first is that he's been leaving Fitz out to dry. He personally doesn't know how to be around and talk to the young scientist, and so he pushes him—and most of the team—away. He needs to change that.

And while he's grateful that Fitz was able to get useful information out of Ward and didn't cause their prisoner permanent brain damage, it's still unsettling to see the man who was once so jovial turn down oxygen levels on another human. Phil isn't sure if he should lock Fitz out of the security system where Ward is concerned, or if the young man now has his frustration out of his system and won't pull a stunt like that again.

But thinking about that brings Phil to his most terrifying thought of all: of how, if roles were reversed, he would've let Ward suffocate and not felt a single ounce of guilt. Because whenever he sees that traitor's face, his mind imagines what it was like for Anna to try and fend off her attacker. Unbidden thoughts fill Phil's brain of what it looked like when Ward took her by surprise, knocked her unconscious, kidnapped her, and delivered her to Garrett to be used as bait.

He'll never forget what it felt like to receive news that the woman he loved was being held as Garrett's prisoner. That his old friend intended to break bones in her hand for every hour that Phil refused to give up critical information. What little sleep Phil gets anymore is haunted with those thoughts, and it drives Phil almost as mad as the alien language that has to erupt out of him every two weeks.

He sits in his office and watches the clouds go by. There are so many things he'd rather do: call Anna, get rid of Ward once and for all, snap his fingers and have the world healed back over, but none of that is going to happen. Especially not the first. He can feel whatever is in him causing his mental faculties to decay, and he's not going to bring Anna back into his life just so she can watch him lose his mind.


	4. Chapter 4

**NOTES: **Warning for discussion of arranged suicide.

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><p>It's been two days since he rejected May's offer for the Australian outback retirement when she knocks on his office door. "Clear your desk," she orders when she walks in.<p>

He looks at her confused. "I had an episode four days ago, I'm not due—"

"You have a guest," she interrupts.

Phil looks over her shoulder. Even though the window in his office door is opaque, he can immediately identify the silhouette on the other side, and it earns May a glare. "Why is she here?"

"She demanded I bring her, and since she has incredibly valid reasons to be pissed at you, I flew her in."

"Get out," he sighs.

May shrugs her slim shoulders, probably more than happy to earn another point for her side of the disagreement they've been having. As she leaves, Anna slips hesitantly through the door, and Phil's breath catches at the sight of her. She's joined into the hair-cutting movement most of the women around him have started, her loose brown curls now stopping at her shoulders. She looks a little thinner than the last time he saw her, and that gives him some concern, but the part that makes his guts twist is how her eyes are already wet. "What are you doing here?" he asks.

"May called your redhead to give her a heads-up that you might reach out to her for…" Anna pauses to grind her jaw and take a deep breath. "To do what May refused to do. Clint was warned you might call him, too."

"It's not what you probably think it sounds like," he tries to argue.

"It sounds like you're begging your friends to kill you," she fires back. "Do you know how much of a mess Clint is right now? You know he still carries a metric ton worth of guilt around for you dying in the first place. Are you seriously going to ask him to be the reason you die a second time?"

Exhaustion hits Phil like a freight train as he decides how best to phrase his response. "It's not what you think it is."

"I think you told me you were suicidal before, and now—"

"I don't want to die," he nearly shouts. He takes a deep breath and swallows, trying to reign in his feelings. "But I don't want to end up like Garrett."

Anna looks at him skeptically. "You think you're going to defect to HYDRA and start bashing hands of your friends' girlfriends?"

"I think I'm going to go insane," he admits quietly. "When I killed Garrett, he was a nutcase. And it's only a matter of time before I become that, too."

"You don't know that," Anna argues softly. "Maybe it's like your beloved Captain America serum—bad people get worse, but good—"

"It's not like that," he counters with a shake of his head. "My… 'art projects' are becoming more of a habit. If I don't have an episode, I feel like I'm going to crawl out of my skin. My hand wouldn't stop shaking the other day. I'm losing control." Anna hangs her head, and Phil is torn. He can try and comfort her, or— "I knew this was going to happen. This was why I was going to leave S.H.I.E.L.D., because I saw agent after agent lose their mind because of this and I was done. I mean, sure, wanting you to stick around was part of it, but I resigned—"

"Stop it," Anna whispers without looking up.

"Thank goodness it was just a pregnancy scare and not an actual baby, right? You'd be, what, seven months along now?"

"Stop it," she hisses as her head snaps up. Tears have started to run down her cheeks, and Phil hates himself a little. "You have every right to be angry at me, but you do not get to say whatever vile things pop into your head in order to scare me off. You don't get to do that to me."

They stare at each other for a minute or two before Phil sighs and sinks into the nearest chair. Anna rocks on her toes for a second like she might walk over to him, but remains rooted in her spot. "How's your hand?" he asks.

She stretches her right arm out before her and flexes her fingers. "As good as it's going to get. If it weren't my bow hand I'd be screwed, but I think I can get away with stiff fingers for now."

"Jemma said—"

"I knew it," she mutters with a shake of her head.

"Knew what?"

"You've got her working undercover."

"I didn't say—"

"She's working in a lab," Anna cuts in. "The only lab that would keep her interested would be one that has plenty of funding and therefore isn't government-related. I doubt S.H.I.E.L.D. has a lab out in the open, so you've got her undercover. You've got an exit strategy for her, right?"

"Of course," Phil answers.

"And what's the exit strategy for you and all of this? Because asking your friends to put two in your head isn't going to work."

He scrubs his hands over his face. The one he wants to happen apparently never will, unless he shoots himself, and he can't bring himself to do that. Not yet anyway. "May wants to ship the two of us off to the outback. Have me lose my mind. She's got fake passports and money."

"Tell her to get a third passport," Anna instructs him. "I mean, Felix will probably be eaten by a dingo, but whatever."

Phil shakes his head. "I'm not going to let you watch me go mad."

She looks at his fingers before speaking. "Did you know you had an open-casket funeral?" His chest squeezes at the question, but he doesn't answer. "I stood there for, I don't even know how long, just holding your hands. Hoping that maybe if I stood there long enough they'd stop being so cold, but it didn't work." Slowly, she inches toward him and kneels beside his chair. "We know exactly what it's like to not have you in our lives. And no one is going to voluntarily go back to that. You mean too much to us."

They sit there quietly for a moment before Phil opens his hand to her. She clutches it in both of hers for dear life.


	5. Chapter 5

**NOTES: **Sorry I missed an update last week. Things were crazy and the scenes that were jumping out to me weren't involving Phil. It was very much a Fitz/Mack episode for me, and everything else just kind of fell into the shadows.

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><p>Phil sits in his office chair with a sigh. On his screen, there are several feeds covering Ward's escape from his prison transport. Two men died in the wake of his escape. Phil tries to reason their deaths away as sacrifices for a greater good, but that kind of thing has never set well with him.<p>

He knew from the instant he let Ward have his hands cuffed in front of him that this was a possibility. Phil was counting on it. Long games are tricky and tedious, but it's necessary at the moment. When you only have a few pieces remaining on the chessboard, you can't play fast and loose.

He picks up the receiver and dials a phone number that, even with alien art consuming his mind, he can't forget. Anna answers on the first ring. "Hey," he greets. "You alright?"

"I'm watching the news. What do you think?"

He hears the tightness in her voice, and he hates that he can't protect her better. "It's very unlikely that he'll come after you."

"You said that the last time, Phil," she counters, and he can't argue with her.

"Where's Clint?"

"Out," she answers tersely. "He said he was going to be gone for a couple weeks, and he only left a few days ago."

"I'm going to call Natasha," he tells her. "She's going to pick you up and take you back to Stark. I know you may—"

"It's fine," she interrupts.

His guts folds further in on itself. He hates himself for putting her in a position of fear. It's the last thing she deserves.

"What about Jemma?" she asks, and he can hear in her tone how she's trying to sound brave; it makes his heart swell.

"She's back home with me."

He hears Anna sigh in relief. "So you got all the kids in the divorce except the crazy, evil one?"

"Sorry," he apologizes with a small smile.

"You sound like you knew this was going to happen, that he'd escape."

He rolls his lips and debates about how much to say. "I had an inkling."

"You know what you're doing with this, right?" she asks cautiously.

He wants to say yes, and do so confidently. But he can't fully trust his own mind at the moment, which doesn't bode well for someone with the title of Director. "Yeah," he says, trying to sound nonchalant. And apparently he's trying a little too hard, because he can hear her snort. "Thanks," he comments.

The line falls quiet for a minute before Anna speaks again. "Sorry I couldn't stay longer, I just… I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

When May'd flown her to the base two weeks ago, she'd only stayed for about three hours. Neither of them trusted themselves to talk much. He knew he was afraid of once again making promises he couldn't quite keep. She'd kissed his cheek goodbye, and they hadn't talked since. It was the right thing to do, but it hurt like hell.

"Phil, are you okay?" she asks.

He's not. He can't stop carving, he almost lost Jemma, Ward had the nerve to still think himself as a team member, Skye's a mess over her dad and everything with Ward, he lost six agents in the safe house. "I'm fine."

She huffs another laugh. "And still a terrible liar." He hears Felix mewl over the line, and Anna shushes him and probably shoves him off her couch. "I'm sure you have a million other things—"

"I'm good," he reassures her. Of course he has an endless list of other things to do, but he can't bring himself to hang up.

"I probably shouldn't be watching this shit, should I?" she asks.

He shrugs, even if she can't see him. "Is it helping?"

"Not really."

"Then turn it off," he instructs. The background noise is silenced on the other side of the line.

"When is your redhead coming?" Anna finally asks.

He punches a few keys on his keyboard and waits three seconds for an acknowledgement. "She'll be there in twenty. Don't open the door for anyone else."

"Okay," she says shakily. "Do I need to pack clothes? How long will I be gone?"

"Nat's going to cover you until Ward is taken care of. She'll take care of anything you might need." He cringes, remembering how upending Anna's life has messed with her career. "If you need me to, I can, I don't know, call your boss—"

"Are you asking permission to write a doctor's note for me?" she asks with mocking disbelief.

"I don't know," he grumbles. Her small bout of laughing is the most beautiful sound he's heard in ages. "I'm sorry I screwed over your career."

She immediately goes quiet, so much so that he's worried that he's been disconnected until she whispers, "Thank you."

He traces a pinstripe in his slacks before posing his next question. "Skye says you've been invited to a few auditions. Why haven't you gone?"

"Denial," she answers easily but softly. "If I up and leave to go somewhere, it will mean we're really done. And part of me—a big part of me—isn't ready for that just yet. So I'll teach and do gigs until… whatever." He wants to push the conversation further, but she gets too jumpy and keeps talking. "You have to be busy," she starts and he can hear her overly polite tone of voice creep in. "Thanks for sending Natasha. I'm sure she'll let you know when I'm back safe—"

"I can stay on the line," he offers.

"It's okay," she says. "I don't want you to be distracted."

"Sure," he says. "I'll talk to you when I can."

"Phil—" she says quickly before he can hang up. "May didn't really let me talk to anyone when I came to visit. How bad are things?"

He fights to contain a sigh and tries to be a little more convincingly blasé about life. "We're okay. We're getting better."

"Okay," Anna says, her uncertainty plainly evident.


	6. Chapter 6

Phil steels himself behind his desk as May enters his office. He knows there's a tongue-lashing coming for all that he's done while she's been gone on the hunt for Ward. Very rarely will she use more than five words to dress someone down, but if she does, you're going to be reduced to a pile of nothingness. Phil's seen it happen before. And he's been dreading her wrath being aimed at him.

She stands there, arms crossed, and stares him down for a minute before shaking her head. "I'm going to let someone else do this."

"Someone else?" he asks, but she doesn't bother to answer.

Someday, the people he works with will actually treat him like he's in charge. But today is still not that today.

May leaves the door open for Anna to walk through. And, yeah, that's worse. "May told me everything," she announces.

Yeah. So much worse.

"You know May," he says as nonchalantly as possible while standing and rounding his desk. "Her dryness makes things sound worse than they actually are."

"You threw Skye into a cell? And not only anyone's cell, but where you kept Ward?"

Phil cringes, both at the question and how Anna's voice keeps increasing in volume. "To be fair—"

"To be fair, you said you guys were doing fine, getting better," she responds. "But apparently you've been carving non-stop, Jemma and Leo can't be in the same room together, Ward's become super creepy with Skye, and you—" She pauses to shake her head, and he already feels guilty for whatever she says next. "You went back into that fucking machine."

"Anna, I—"

"Do you not remember what a mess you were when you came and found me in Portland? Because I do."

"It was necessary," he tells her calmly.

She snorts and looks at him closely. "Do you know what the worst part about all of this is?" she asks softly. "With those memories back in your head, you look more like you. And I hate that."

He knows she's right; he's seen it in his own reflection. While the madness in his eyes is gone, it's been replaced with a pinched look on his face—a constant worry that lingers due to the knowledge of what was done to those six people. And now himself and Skye.

Phil wants to hug Anna, pull her close and beg apologies for the multiple hells he's made her endure. But if he takes a step closer to her and she backs away, that might hurt him more than anything else he's already gone through. Thankfully, she leans in ever so slightly, and he knows it's okay to hold her. She squeezes him tightly, and he feels the cut on his chest protest. He tries not to cringe, but apparently isn't successful since she pulls away.

"What happened?" she asks.

He opens his mouth to answer but realizes that telling her someone carved on him may not be the best approach. "I was injured," he tells her. "Squeeze to hard and it'll break open. And you know how hard it is for me to keep my white shirts clean."

A small smile graces her face. "That's because you work when you eat, don't pay attention, and dump food all over yourself."

"True," he says with a grin. His hand comes up to brush a thumb against her cheekbone and she leans into the touch. "I know I don't have any right to ask you to stay, but—"

"I brought a suitcase with me," she answers before shrugging. "May said it was okay, and we thought maybe a few of you might want someone not-S.H.I.E.L.D. to talk to."

"Felix?"

"Clint came back early. Not that I think he'll be the one taking care of him, but maybe between the neighbors and the dog, he'll remember to feed him."

He leans in and kisses her forehead, and damn, he's pathetically missed the smell of her shampoo. "I've got to have an 'I'm really not crazy' talk with the team, but rumor has it that Mack's been making chili if you're hungry. I think Skye's going to demand a family dinner once the briefing is over."

"Who's Mack?"

"I think I heard the girls say he's a 'chocolate god'—you'll like him just fine."

Phil escorts Anna and her luggage up to one of the guest quarters, making sure she feels like she has her own space and isn't immediately drowning in all the drama associated with the team. He encourages her idea of a nap and tells her he'll wake her when it's time for dinner.

Convincing the team that he's not insane thankfully doesn't take too long—or they're all acting like they're agreeing with what he says, which is entirely possible. They talk through possible ideas for the city Phil's been carving maps of—hypothesizing feasible locations or a name for the place—without generating any real facts. Skye has an algorithm searching any map the internet can find as well as satellite feeds for a clue to help them. Once that's done, they review what they knew about Ward and what he could be up to. Several chomp at the bit to go back out and hunt for the fugitive, but Phil tells them they all need a night in. "I'll pass on what we know to my FBI and military contacts, make sure they keep it quiet as to appease Senator Ward. But unless something goes down before morning, we're staying quiet until then. If there isn't anything else, I think Mack is providing us dinner."

"This isn't like the time you tried to make chili in Germany, is it?" Hunter grouses.

"You don't have to eat it," Mack fires back. "You can have another night of peanut butter and jelly since you can't cook anything."

Bobbi snorts a laugh of agreement and Skye starts pushing them all towards the mess before half of them "get thrown in the chili pot as ingredients."

Phil moves off to go get Anna when May blocks his path. "You okay with her here?"

He sighs and shrugs. "Selfish part of me is happy, but the rational part makes me wonder what fresh hell I'm going to make her endure this time."

"She's stronger than she makes herself out to be," she offers. Phil wants to argue that he knows exactly how strong Anna is, because he's brought her to several breaking points in the past. "I'll lose the leather for dinner if you lose the suit and tie," May tells him. "I think the kids want to have a movie night after dinner—something to take our minds off of everything."

"Did Skye name herself cruise director again?"

May smirks but doesn't respond. It would be nice to wear something casual and not be carving up a wall, so Phil heads to his quarters first. It takes a little longer than normal to change since he's cautious about the laceration on his chest. It's also over scar tissue, making the healing process that much more fun.

The last time he wore jeans, one of the two pairs he owns, everyone side-eyed him all night long. Giving in to being uber-casual in front of his team, he grabs a pair of standard issue sweat paints and an old Army Rangers t-shirt. He even finds the guts to only wear socks on his feet.

Living on the edge.

With the safety of knowing he has a full back-up suit with shoes and dress socks stashed in his office in case it's needed.

Anna's room is on the other side of the complex, closer to where most of the others are bunking. Phil took the one set of quarters that was originally for the base's commander, not for the prestige but for the proximity to his office. But before he can get to her, he sees she's already up.

Anna's lingering in the doorway of the mess hall, her back to him and her shoulders taut as she listens to another round of Simmons, Fitz, Mack, and Skye all passively aggressing picking each other apart. Jemma makes some comment about wanting to help, Mack pulls a face, and Fitz complains once more about her leaving. Before Phil can jump in and mediate, Anna steps forward.

"Just because she left doesn't mean she wanted to," she argues. "Leaving is never someone's first choice, but sometimes it has to happen or else everyone will just be worse off. Even if walking away makes you feel like you're leaving all your internal organs behind." She pauses to stare down Mack—someone nearly three times her size. "And if you weren't around when it happened, you don't get to judge."

Phil's heart swells in his chest, and he has to clamp down on the proud smile that threatens to emerge.

"Who's this?" Hunter, beer in hand, asks from his seat at the table where he is clearly ready to eat despite previous protests.

"She's with me," Phil announces before thinking about how those words sound. Skye arches an eyebrow at him, and he's pretty sure Jemma sucked in a hopeful gasp. Anna merely turns around and looks him up and down.

"I thought you said your injury was on your chest? You're dressed and talking like you have a head contusion."

"Hilarious," Phil comments.

Introductions are made with color commentary by Skye, who grabs Anna by the arm and makes the rounds. Phil can't actually control his grin when it's revealed that Bobbi's been married to both Hunter and Clint Barton. Anna's skeptical face is pretty priceless when it's not directed at him.

They make it through dinner with everyone on their best behavior before Jemma shooes them all into what's been dubbed Mack's cave for a movie. The mechanic grumbles at how many beanbags are littering his floor and how he has to be stuck in one of them since Phil was given the courteous spot of the couch.

Fitz distracts him with candy, and Phil once again wonders if the policy on fraternization needs to be revisited like the levels of classification.

Anna eyes the spot next to him before he gives a small nod. She leans her weight against him, and he shifts his arm to line the back of the couch so she can curl up against his side. Predictably, she's asleep ten minutes into the movie. Phil wonders if she's been getting as little sleep as he has. And as soon as he remembers how many hours he's spent awake in the last week, he feels his eyelids droop.

Nudging Anna awake gently with his shoulder, he apologizes for skipping out early for some much needed rest. Honestly, he's grateful for the escape because May picked the movie and her taste in cinema is terrible.

Hunter is the only one who makes a smart-ass remark about them going off together. Anna retaliates by stomping on his toes as she navigates the landmine of beanbags. "Oh, sorry," she half-heartedly apologizes while he hisses in pain.

When they're clear of everyone else, Phil lightly places a hand on Anna's back. "I'll walk you back to your room."

"Or you could walk me to yours," she offers. He pauses mid-step and she turns to face him. "I'm not asking for sex, although I'm not opposed to it, but I know I've been sleeping like shit and I'm told you have been too. I know I'll sleep a lot better if I can wake up and feel you there, hear you breathe. And if I can do that for you, too, I'm okay with that."

The offer is incredibly enticing, but he remembers what she said before dinner when she thought he wasn't around. "You've already left behind all your internal organs. I don't think I can take anything else from you."

"I'm not asking for a commitment," she reassures him. "Just a good night's sleep. If you want to talk things over in the morning, fine. But this is an attachment-free offer."

"I don't know how not have an attachment when it comes to you," he argues quietly.

He's not sure who initiates the kissing that follows, and he knows it's highly unprofessional to be making out with his—whatever. In sweats. In the middle of the base. But he doesn't care. They eventually stumble their way back to his quarters and barely manage to shut the door before clothing starts to come off. What small percentage of his brain that's capable of rational thought thinks the experience is more like the first time—when they still didn't know each other that well—than the last time—at Stark's tower when they were admittedly playing house. It feels like what could be a fresh start instead of a goodbye.

When Phil wakes the next morning, he knows that there's a HYDRA agent who wants him dead in the basement, that Ward's on the loose, and that he's running an agency that's greatly outmanned and outgunned.

But he also wakes with the scent of Anna's shampoo in his nose, her snoring softly against his neck, and his arm around her waist.

It's already the best morning he's had in a while.


	7. Chapter 7

Phil finds Anna sitting at Trip's bedside. They share a small smile when he enters. "How is he?" Phil asks.

"If I can decipher Jemma's nervous medical speak , stable," she answers. "He'll be here for a few days, and restricted for a couple weeks after that, at least. How are you?"

He drags a chair over next to hers. "Found the city we're looking for. We'll be taking off again in a few hours. Will you be okay here?"

She nods her head in Trip's direction. "Someone needs to sit here with him while you all go excavating or whatever."

"Jemma's staying behind," Phil says.

Anna leans in her chair to peer through windows across the hall. "She seems pretty tied up with whoever that is over there."

Phil follows her line of vision to see Jemma inspecting monitors above Bakshi's bed. "That would be a HYDRA agent we've had in the basement who tried to kill himself by activating a cyanide tablet embedded in his cheekbone." When he turns back to Anna, she has a slightly terrified look on her face. "What?"

"We're going to call that an overshare."

"Sorry," he apologizes.

Her left hand reaches over to catch his tie between her fingers, and his chest swells with pride. "Noticed this, by the way."

Phil smiles softly. "We stopped by Oahu. Trip was kind enough to pick up my dry cleaning."

She snorts. "Our one attempt at a vacation."

Phil feels his forehead crinkle in confusion. "I seem to remember other attempts at vacations."

"And I seem to remember telling you I'd never use the v-word until we made it completely through the trip without some agent showing up at the hotel door because you'd turned your cell phone off and no one but you could solve the next big crisis." A rush of guilt flushes his face, but she soothes his nerves a little by running her fingers down the tie. "Surprised they kept it around for four years."

"I'm an excellent tipper."

Her smile warms his heart, and he reaches over to brush a loose curl out of her face. "You don't have to be here."

"No shit," she responds before sighing. "Mack came to have a talk with me while you were gone."

"About what?" Phil questions, unsure of what Mack and Anna would have in common enough to discuss.

"You scared the bejeezus out of him when you went into the machine. Compared you to The Excorcist."

"That's ridiculous," Phil replies, trying to cover up his nerves about her finding out details of what happened. "My head never spun around, and there was no pea green soup vomit."

"Phil," she sighs. "This lifestyle of aliens and replaced memories, it's not normal to all of us."

"It's not normal to me, either," he reassures her. "He tell you about that to make sure you knew what you were getting into?"

Anna nods. "Told him I already had a pretty good idea. Sharing a bed with you during a night terror can be pretty terrifying, and I've already buried you once, after all." She shrugs one shoulder and looks at her shoes. "He thinks me being with you isn't worth the sacrifice. That I'm wasting a shot at a normal life by hanging out with you freaks."

"And what do you think?" Phil asks softly, fear pooling in his stomach at what she might say.

She looks up and studies his face a moment before answering. "I think I stopped being normal long before you ever came around, and I have no hope of going back."

"You should still be playing in a symphony."

Her mouth opens to respond, but she rolls her lips together instead. "We're not having this conversation right now."

"We need to have—"

"I know, I just can't right now."

"Why?" he questions.

"Because I don't know what I want and therefore can't argue my point." She pauses to run her fingers through her hair. "I miss it," she admits quietly. "But I feel like I have some mark against me and I need to know I can prove that I'm healthy and whole before I go to another audition."

"I'm sorry," he apologizes again. He could apologize for eternity, but it would never feel like enough. "Don't give up on your career, please."

Her smile is a bitter one. "That's incredibly kind of you to say considering I beg you to leave your job at least twice a week."

"Anna—"

"We'll talk when you get back," she says in her tone that means she's absolutely done with things. "You've got a mission." She stares at him for a second, her eyes squinting, and he hates that she knows him so well. "What aren't you telling me?"

Phil knows trying to hide the truth from her will only land him in a heaping mess of trouble, so he cranes his neck to make sure no one is nearby before answering her question. "The man who shot Trip is Skye's father."

"What?" Anna gasps.

"We ran into him—"

She waves off his words. "Skye told me about finding his… wreckage."

"She doesn't know he's the one who did this, and I'd like to keep that quiet." He watches her debate whether or not she should push the topic before she barely nods. "I think he'll find us when we get to this city, and there'll be some kind of show down."

"And what are you going to do about that?"

He feels his chest squeeze so tightly he can barely breathe. Losing Skye is not an option; he'll fight like hell to keep her with him. "Whatever's necessary."

Anna gives him a half-smile as she brushes her knuckles against his cheek. "You're cute when you're gearing up for a paternal rights fight."


	8. Chapter 8

**NOTES: **This story will go on hiatus while the show is on hiatus. Need to devote some writing time to other stories while the show is on a break (and probably fight the urge to write Peggy stuff with the start of Agent Carter). Thank you so much for reading. Hope you come back to the story in March.

* * *

><p>When Phil wakes, everything hurts. He stays still not to absorb the details of the sounds around him, but because he's afraid of what fresh hell movement will cause. The steady beeping from above his head is pretty clear sign he's in some hospital bed, and when he gathers the courage to open his eyes, his theory is proven correct.<p>

To his left, Anna is curled up in a chair. Her clothes don't match, she's not wearing any makeup, and her hair is falling out of its ponytail. The sight is simultaneously wonderful and painful, and he adds this date to the list of times he's hurt with his job.

She must sense he's awake, because she stirs. He does his best to smile at her, but all it does is break open the cut on his lip. She swears under breath, grabs a tissue, and puts some pressure on his lip to help it stop bleeding. "Hey," she says softly. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he answers. "Do you know what happened?" Her eyes duck away for a moment, and his stomach tightens. Something bad happened, but the last thing he can remember was a possessed Mack coming at him outside the temple entrance.

"Some," Anna answers. "They've told me a little bit, but I'm supposed to get May when you wake up."

She stands to leave, but he manages to grab her wrist before she gets away. "Who?" he asks. "Who did we lose?"

"Phil, I don't know details. May can—"

"Who?" he demands again. He hates forcing her to break the news to him, but he can't stand being awake a second more and not knowing which of them didn't make it back.

"Trip," she says quietly. "He's gone."

Phil closes his eyes at the news and says a silent farewell in his mind. Of course it will be detrimental to them to lose such an able and talented agent like Trip, but they've also lost a dear friend. One who'd had Phil's back no matter what.

Just as the pain starts needling into his heart, Anna sits down gingerly on the edge of his bed. His stomach drops at the thought of losing someone else, because if she's being this gentle with the news, then…

"Honey, they can't find Skye."

He wishes the earth would come up and swallow him. No pain has matched this, not even Loki's wound. His girl is gone.

Anna's mutters something, kisses him gently on the forehead, and leaves. A moment later, May is standing by his bedside, but his mind is still lost and trying to make sense of things. "Skye?" he asks, his voice hoarse.

"We're tracking her. At least, we think it's her," May answers.

"What do you mean?" Phil asks as she tries to prop himself up a little in his bed. He immediately regrets the decision.

"You have a concussion, two broken ribs, multiple lacerations, and a collapsed lung."

"Had worse," he tries to joke. It's ineffective . "Why do you think it's Skye?"

"It's either her or Raina," May says. "We found Trip's clothing in the temple, so we know those remains were his. But we didn't find anything of Raina or Skye. There was an earthquake with its epicenter under San Juan when all of this went down. There were no signs that an earthquake was expected, so we think it has something to do with the temple."

"How bad was it?" Phil asks.

"Bad," Melinda answers. "And HYDRA leaked it to the news that S.H.I.E.L.D. was involved, so our reputation has taken an even greater hit."

"Just what we need," Phil mutters.

"Stark has been running interference for us and helping with relief and rebuilding efforts."

"You know he's going to call in that favor eventually," Phil tells her, and she nods. "So how are you tracking Skye?"

"Tectonic activity," she replies. "Like I said, the earthquake was unexplained and random. Fitz has been keeping an eye on that kind of unexpected quakes, and he's found a trail of smaller incidents over the last few days. They lead away from Puerto Rico and toward Asia."

"Her father take her?"

May shrugs. "Can't find him either."

Phil sighs as the information settles into his mind. "Are you trying to tell me that Skye can cause earthquakes now?"

"Either she or Raina; that's Fitz's best theory."

It's a terrifying possibility, this idea that he's led Skye into becoming a gifted. But if means they can keep track of where she is…

"I probably should've asked this sooner," Phil says, "but where the hell are we?"

"Bobbi, Hunter, and me—well, technically Fitz and Simmons, too—were able to pull all of you out. You and Mack needed immediate medical attention, and since word had already been released that we were involved, our options were limited. Simmons has some loyal friends here, so we snuck you two in."

"None of you were hurt?" Phil asks.

"We didn't require immediate care," is all May says in return.

"You still didn't mention where 'here' is."

"Simmons's friends are with the CDC, so—"

"We're in a hospital in Atlanta?" Phil asks, his stomach dropping. "And Anna's here?"

"Yes," May answers, her tone making it clear she hasn't put together whatever Phil's talking about. "Jemma called her from the plane. Barton and Natasha brought her down here. Why? We thought you'd be happy to wake up and see her."

"The last time Anna was in a hospital in Atlanta, her three-day-old son died." May doesn't respond, just rolls her lips. Phil sighs as best as he can and tries once more to figure out the next step. "We're going to have to lay low for awhile if the press is after us again. We're sure Trip's really gone?"  
>May nods. "I already called his family and arranged for services."<p>

"That should've been my job."

"You were a little busy with a coma," she responds.

"Funny," he mutters. "In an hour, I want a full report on everything I missed, the status on our bases, and an update on possible locations for Skye and Raina."

May turns and leaves to follow orders. When she's out the door, Anna peeks her head in and Phil calls her over. He steels himself for words he doesn't want to say, but it needs done.

"Mack's lurking in the hallway to apologize to you," she says as she walks in. "Something about karma for calling you possessed?"

"I'll handle that in a second," he tells her as she settles back into her chair. "I'm sorry," he apologizes.

Anna shrugs. "Oddly, I've gotten pretty used to you getting hurt and worrying myself sick about it."

"I was apologizing for making you come back here."

She freezes, a human knot of tension that drives of wedge of guilt into Phil's gut. "I had to come make sure you were okay for myself," she says softly. "I didn't need your redhead showing up again to tell me you were gone."

"Even though it meant coming here?" he asks. She looks out the window instead of giving him an answer, and he shakes his head. "Anna, I can't do this to you anymore."

"Do what, exactly?"

"This," he says with half-hearted wave of his hand. "You're not working because someone broke your hand to get to me. You've already had to bury me once. You have no friends of your own because my life is full of secrets and you have live in it. And now I've dragged you to the place you swore you'd never come back to."

"Phil—"

"You can do better than me, easily," Phil tells her. "And you should. You don't deserve this kind of life. And you shouldn't have to live it. I just—"

"You're done talking now," Anna tells him. He opens his mouth to argue his point some more, but her sharp look makes him clamp his jaw shut. "You're an idiot, you know that?"

"Most of the time, yes."

The joke almost makes her crack a smile, but not quite. "You think I keep coming back to you because I don't think I can do better, but the real reason is because I can't live without you. Had to do that for a little bit, and life was awful."

"I seem to recall that you tried to break up with me in New York when you were living in Stark's tower," Phil points out.

"And I seem to recall that you were acting like a dick, so…" She pauses to pick at her nails. "The baby died twelve years ago."

"Doesn't mean it still doesn't hurt. You can't tell me that."

"Fair enough," she admits.

"You should be playing in a symphony."

"Phil—"

"You should."

She sighs and shakes her head. "Phil, I don't even know if I want to play in a symphony anymore. I honestly can't name one thing I want anymore, except you."

"I can't offer you a normal life."

At that, she laughs. "You remember that my life has never been normal, right? I lost my mom before I was in first grade, became a widow in my twenties just a little bit after burying my newborn. And that didn't include the phase of my life where, among other things, I tried to get guys to date me in college without them finding out that my father was on track to become Chief of Staff for the Army."

"You deserve to have a quiet, regular life."

"And I wouldn't know what that'd look like even if it jumped up and bit me in the ass." She reaches out and gingerly takes his fingers in hers. He squeezes back to let her know that's one part of him that doesn't hurt. "So here's what's going to happen: you're going quit trying to dump me, you're going to quit busting up your face, you're going to get better, and you're going to find our girl."


End file.
